Author's note: I do not own the Scarecrow or any other DC characters. I don't even have anything clever to add to that this time. I just don't.

Visit www. freewebs. com/ bitemetechie/ catverse. html to see where this story takes place in the CAT series. Or you could just take my word for it that it happens in August after "Noughts and Crosses."

I'm feeling the lurve.

The Smell of Victory

"Squishy?"

As was usual when one of the Scarecrow's henchgirls called him by one of those stupid pet names, he tensed and considered the logistics of murdering her. And, as always, instead of going through with it, he merely sighed and gave her a dirty look.

"What do you want, Captain? I'm busy." He glared up at the young woman at the top of the stairs. If she had come to offer him soup again…

"You know, the Olympics are coming up." He raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. "Did you know they're being held in Gotham this year?"

"So?" She was being awfully timid about this.

"I was just wondering if you had any…plans."

"Plans?" he repeated. "To disrupt the games? No. Why, do you think I should?"

Her face went chalk white. He resisted the urge to smile at this unexpected result.

"No. Jonathan, don't. Please."

"It might be interesting…" He glanced up to judge her facial expression, only to realize that his halfhearted quip had driven her to the verge of hysterics.

"Don't!" She ran down the stairs and threw herself down to kneel at his feet. "Please, please don't do anything. I—I'll do anything you want, just promise you won't go and—and—and—please, Jonathan, just promise me you won't."

"Promise?" He smirked at her. "Will this promise carry the same weight as your promise to stay out of my lab?" The Captain looked down at the floor as if surprised to find it there. Then she looked up at him, pleadingly, big brown eyes filled with genuine tears.

"I…I'll leave. Okay? I'll go work for Eddums, or—or I'll move back to Alabama, if that's what you want. I'll drag Al and Techie with me if I can. And I'll never bother you again. Okay? Never ever. Just don't go to the Olympics. Please."

If there was ever a time for him to look as if he'd been hit in the back of the head with a board, this was it.

"You're serious?" She nodded vehemently. "You'll leave?" She nodded again, less vehemently this time, but still with conviction. "Why?"

"I just…" She looked up at him and evidently decided that she wasn't going to get away with not answering. "This is something very important to me. Okay? Please don't make me say any more."

"What could possibly be more important than me?" He realized how conceited that sounded even as he said it. But in all the time he had known them, she and her friends had consistently put him ahead of any other concerns, including, often, their own safety. What could make her change that pattern?

"I know one of the competitors," she admitted. "I don't want to see her get hurt."

"And if I promise not to hurt your friend, you'll leave?"

"Yeah. If that's what you want. I can't make any promises for Al and Techie, but I'll leave."

He gave the matter serious consideration. Getting rid of the girl would be no bad thing. But did he really want to be stuck with the other two without her distracting influence? Or, worse, what if she managed to drag Techie away, and left him alone with Al?

Was it worth the gamble?

"If it means that much to you," he smirked, "I can stay in that day. I can't make any promises for my fellow rogues, but I'll stay in."

Her eyes widened.

"Oh, hell. I hadn't thought of that. You don't think…" He waited, enjoying the fear in her eyes. She seemed to have stopped breathing.

"It's a tempting target," he said. "I'm sure someone will go for it."

"Oh, God." She curled up at his feet. He smiled.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"Onna moya syostri," she mumbled. He fought down the urge to smack her silly. She only started babbling in Russian when she was on the verge of a quiet panic attack.

"Repeat that."

"No repeat. 'Say again.' Repeat blows it up."

Oh, great. Army talk. She was upset. He tried to catch her attention. She just stared at his feet, rocking back and forth.

"Captain?" She didn't answer. What an odd time for a nervous breakdown. "Oh, mon Capitan?" She should have given him some reaction when he used that affectionate term so often used by her friends.

Nothing.

Of all the strange things this woman had ever done to him, this might actually be the most incomprehensible.

He almost felt like taking a picture.

--

Weeks later, Crane found himself in the company of his relatively sane minion, pushing through a crowd of sports fans at Gotham Coliseum. What he was doing there, moderately well disguised and almost totally unarmed, he couldn't have said. Even Al and Techie didn't know where they had gone, much less what they were doing there.

This didn't have anything to do with the fact that she had started crying and hugging his ankles, and wouldn't let him go until he promised to help her play bodyguard to her athletic little friend. It had even less to do with the fact that she had been all smiles ever since, and had been showering him with food in a way that made her previous efforts look stingy in comparison.

He had expected her to try something once she got him to herself, but other than making sure she didn't lose him, and babbling cheery nonsense in his general direction, they might not have been alone together at all. He had to admit, it was refreshing to be almost ignored.

She bought him something called Dippin' Dots, which she insisted he was going to love, and dragged him over to a seat by the pool.

Somehow, she had scored seats right in front, so close they could almost have reached out and touched the athletes. There should have been background checks so extensive that even her forgery skills never would have gotten them through, but apparently luck—or something else—had been on her side.

She continued inexplicably not bothering him as the swimmers came out to take their places.

Most of the men in the audience found it hard not to stare at so many teenage girls in bathing suits. The Captain, it seemed, only had eyes for one.

The American girl was about seventeen years old, tall, slim, blonde, and sparklingly pretty. The girls on either side of her—a curvy Brazilian and a perfect Chinese flower—were equally attractive, but the American was the one who had the Captain's attention, and therefore the one who caught his eye. There was something familiar about her, although he couldn't be certain he'd ever seen her before. Something about the way she held her head as she tucked her hair up under a swim cap. Something about the way she was built, well muscled but lithe and…leggy. Maybe it was just the suit, but he couldn't help being reminded of a conversation he had once overheard between a couple of thugs at the Iceberg concerning Wonder Woman and her superhuman legs.

He probably shouldn't let his thoughts continue down that path. Whoever this girl was, the Captain was obviously protective of her, and he didn't want to have to deal with her in "Avenging Angel Mode."

(Not that he couldn't, mind you. He just didn't want to.)

The girl glanced in their direction, saw them looking at her, and froze. Her eyes went wide behind her cat-eye glasses.

"Hell," the Captain muttered cheerfully. "She's spotted us." She raised one hand to wave. The girl waved back uncertainly. The Captain grinned and put a finger to her lips. The girl's answering smile lit up her face.

Now, that was familiar. The Captain had that same dazzling grin that could knock a man flat if he wasn't expecting it.

No way around it—they had to be related.

Looking like someone who had just won the lottery without even buying a ticket, the girl went back to what she had been doing. She slipped off her glasses and traded them for a pair of goggles.

The Captain leaned against Crane's shoulder with a contented sigh. He stiffened.

"What are you doing?"

"Happy," she sighed. "Isn't that funny?" She hugged him. "I'm happy."

"Hilarious." He struggled to pull himself out of her grip.

It was then that the Chinese girl tripped the American. She went sprawling.

The Captain released him and sat bolt upright, face livid.

"Squishykins! Did you see that?"

He scooted away from her before answering, "Yes. And don't—"

She favored him with the most murderous glare he had ever seen her bestow on anyone. He decided to let the nickname slide.

"You saw it," she said darkly. "Zhang Ling Mei must die."

--

The Chinese girl took the bronze medal, the American won the silver, and the gold went to Norway, leading the Captain to snort derisively and say with renewed cheer, "Forget Norway."

Then, instead of sticking around to congratulate her friend, cousin, or whatever she was, the Captain wandered off to deal with Zhang Ling. Crane followed. What else was he going to do with his afternoon?

Just seconds before they arrived at the tent where the Chinese girl would be changing clothes, security was called away to deal with the mayhem Harley Quinn was causing among the gymnasts.

"Timing, huh?" the Captain said cheerfully. He frowned at her, wondering if Al had kept up that bizarre friendship she had briefly formed with the Joker's girl, and if the Captain had ever been a part of it. She gave him no clues. "Well, boss? Coming?"

With a shrug, he followed her into the tent, watching from behind as she cheerfully confronted the lovely young swimmer, who didn't seem too surprised to be interrupted, although she did wrap her towel more securely around herself.

"Ling?" The Captain smiled charmingly. "Ni hao?" The Chinese girl gave her a blank stare. "Ni de youyong hen hao." She made swimming motions. "You're very fast."

Ling continued with the blank stare, and then replied contemptuously in Cantonese.

The Captain's face darkened. Then she smiled a very peculiar smile.

"Ling, dear, ni shuo Meiguoren?" she asked in sugary sweet tones. Without changing her posture or expression the least little bit, Ling managed to convey depths of contempt that heiresses and land-poor aristocrats could only dream of.

"There is no American language," she said clearly, though with a heavy accent. "You mean Yingwen. And your Mandarin is terrible."

"I'm so very sorry for offending your ears," the Captain said in those same syrupy tones. Crane found himself nearly bouncing with anticipation, which made it rather difficult to remain unobtrusive behind her. Ling glanced at him as if searching for the source of a mildly unpleasant odor, and then dismissed him from her consciousness. "I don't suppose you're at all curious about why I'm here?"

Ling shrugged and muttered something in Cantonese, all with an air of icy hauteur.

"Autograph?" the Captain said with an even wider smile. "Oh, I think not. Do you recall tripping the American swimmer earlier?"

One perfect black eyebrow arched ever so slightly. Ling said nothing. The Captain's grin turned predatory.

"Ta shi wo de meimei."

Finally, the young swimmer recognized the threat. Although Crane wasn't clear on what the Captain had just said, Ling obviously was, and wasn't happy to hear it. She took a step back and spoke up in her native language, sounding alarmed.

"Oh, don't worry," said the Captain in a voice utterly devoid of sugary sweetness. "I'm not going to hurt you." She caught the girl by the arm, pulled her close, and clapped a hand over her mouth before she could cry out. "He is."

Oh, he is, is he? Crane gave his minion a sardonic glance. She smiled and shrugged slightly, clearly trying to say, I thought you'd want to.

Well, now that the idea was on the table, he wouldn't mind using an Olympic athlete as a test subject. If things went really well, it might cause some kind of diplomatic incident. The aura of fear pervading any and all populated areas the last time that kind of thing had happened had kept him feeling cheerful for weeks.

That kind of thing might go so well, he could ignore the fact that this was almost like doing her a favor.

And if she decided she wanted to be his lab assistant, he could always give her the mask that leaked. Discovering the problem hadn't been particularly enjoyable…but letting someone else discover it would be…hen hao.

Author's note: Hen hao. Very good. I hope you found this story hen hao. Now, see if Squishy's luck holds in BiteMeTechie's "Make-Out Point."